


Stars, Hide Your Fires

by lforevermore



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: And isn't in the first chapter, Aphrodisiacs, Coercion, I'm Making Up The Science As I Go, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Mangling of the Eugenics War canon, Manipulation, Non-con is between Khan and Kirk, Past Rape/Non-con, Pseudoscience, Tags to be added, Violence, faceslapping, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lforevermore/pseuds/lforevermore
Summary: Khan wants his revenge. He will take everything that Commander Spock holds dear, and he will destroy it in his own way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posted from 5 years ago, revived as I've started working on it again. 
> 
> Please read warnings as they are posted with chapters. 
> 
> "Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires." - Macbeth, Shakespeare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow at inmywildernesswriting.tumblr.com

A man like Khan Noonien Singh made friends just as well as enemies – that is, if you could even call them ‘friends.’ They were more like followers, drawn in by his power and kept there by manipulation and charisma. He was the perfect predator, some thought. He was handsome, his voice mesmerizing and dark. He triggered an instinct, and the inferior knew to bow to him or they would be destroyed. He had, after all, brutally conquered and ruled a third of the earth before being frozen and set adrift in space. More recently, he had nearly annihilated the Federation as the universe knew it. He was manipulative and cruel, dark and merciless, ruthless in his quest for power and perfection.

Lieutenant Marla McGivers knew this, possibly better than anyone else. She had made it her life’s work to study the products of the Eugenics War, Khan and his people. She was even the one who had originally revived him for Admiral Marcus – she had been the first thing he’d seen in three hundred years. It was a heady feeling.

It was that feeling that had her scurrying down the hall of a Starfleet building, trying to keep her pace brisk but not draw attention, especially to the large black duffel she carried. Dressed in civilian clothing instead of her usual red, she hoped she looked as though she had just come in to grab something on her day off. She turned down a hallway and stepped up to a door, scanning her card. It took a second longer than it should have, a second that she spent agonizing over raising suspicions and everything failing. Marla breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened, admitting her into the classified section.

She passed her own office, the door locked and windows dark. If one had bothered to go in and poke around, they would have found her data suspiciously missing, paper trails that led nowhere, falsified reports. All of her personal effects of any importance were gone from her shelves.

Marla rounded the corner, only to collide with a security officer. She stumbled, dropping the duffel and wincing at the clatter of the objects inside.

“Hey, Marla.” The officer steadied her. “Isn’t today your day off?”

“I’m working on a pet project,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too rushed. She had always been terrible at lying. “I just need to gather some quick data and I’ll be on my way.”

“Workaholic.” He had seen her reach for the duffel. He lifted it to hand it to her, and frowned. “This is heavy. Do you need some help?”

“No!” Marla said sharply. The officer looked startled. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “No, thank you, it’s really very sensitive data.” She gave him a sheepish smile, flipping some of her red hair over her shoulder as she reached for it.

Her dimple did the trick – he handed the bag over with no further argument. “Ah, okay. Hope I didn’t damage any of it.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she said, relieved. “Sorry, I’m in kind of a hurry…”

He took the hint, moving to let her by. Marla uttered a goodbye and hurried down the hallway, ducking into one of the empty labs. She paused for a moment before glancing back down the hallway. The officer was nowhere to be seen, and so she continued on her way to the large black door at the end of the hall.

The door opened to her retinal scan and voice print, even though it shouldn’t have opened to anyone at all. It had taken some doing, a few favors called in under the guise of research, but it would be worth it. She set the bag down as the door hissed closed behind her, and the single, solitary light in the room came on.

Marla could feel eyes on her, watching her closely. “I brought them,” she said. “Phasers and uniforms, as many as I could get.” There was no response to her words, though she imagined that the eyes that watched her seemed more… approving. She waited, trying not to let her breath come too fast. Whether it was from fear or excitement, she wasn’t exactly sure, but her nervousness could be seen as a weakness.

She had tried so hard, so very hard, to seem stronger to him. To be worthy.

“As well as…?” The voice was dark, expectant, a poisoned velvet.

She faltered, but quickly raised her chin. “It’s in the bag too,” she said.

He stepped forward then, and though he did not smile, the hand that trailed down her arm told her that she had done well. “You are a rare thing,” he said. “Docile, yet… strong. You bend to me without fight, though you are so desperate to prove your worth.” His grip on her wrist tightened, even as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead – her heart leapt at the contact, pride filling her.

He released her, then, bending to unzip the bag. He shoved the folded uniforms aside, reaching for the data PADD at the bottom. His fingers brought the screen to life, and two pictures appeared, side by side.

“Captain James Tiberius Kirk and Commander Spock…” he said, practically purring. He read quickly. “About to launch into quite the expedition…”

“They leave in a week,” Marla supplied quietly.

“And you will be on board the Enterprise.” He dropped the PADD back into the bag and stood. He looked at her expectantly. She nodded. “He _will_ give me what I want, and you will make sure of that.” She nodded again.

He held out the bag, and the others began to come forward, out of the shadows.

“And in return,” he said, softly, “I will give you what you want.” His fingers traced a lock of her hair down her shoulder, nearly to her breast. “If you will still have me.”

“Yes, Khan,” Marla breathed as his crew armed themselves for the fight ahead.

 

Jim Kirk was having a good night. There was an absolutely gorgeous trio of girls giving him a matching set of come-hither looks. The one in the middle was wearing a skirt that seemed to be made completely of tassels, and they kept leaning their heads together and then looking at him like they had _plans_. He was pretty damn sure that whatever they had in mind, he was already on board.

“Are you even listening to me?”

He glanced at Bones, who looked far too annoyed to be sitting in the middle of a bar in San Francisco.

“Of course I am, Bones,” Jim said quickly. “You were telling me about something very important.” He swallowed as one of the girls flagged someone else over, a guy who looked like he spent most of his time in a Starfleet gym. To his relief, the guy gave him a once over before a dirty grin crossed his face.

“God damn it, Jim,” Bones was saying when he turned back in. “This is important stuff – five _years_ in space, are you even thinking about – “

The girl in the middle threw her head back and laughed when the guy leaned over and said something, flashing a look at Jim. Then, she looked Jim straight in the eye and crooked a finger at him.

Jim knocked his shot back. “Sorry, Bones,” he said, interrupting whatever McCoy was saying about… whatever it was he was talking about. “I have a reputation to uphold, last night on Earth and all that.” He looked down to smirk at McCoy’s indignant squawk, only to let one out himself when he ran into a brick wall that had, apparently, just popped up out of nowhere.

“Captain,” the wall said, sounding strangely like Spock. “I would be remiss in my duty if I did not remind you that we must be onboard the Enterprise at 0800.”

“C’mon, Spock, I’m not gonna be late.” He clapped Spock’s shoulder and moved around him. “We’re about to spend five years in space. Have some fun, get laid or something.” The four had, graciously, already ordered a drink for him, after all.

Spock, meanwhile, took a moment to attempt to come up with another argument that had a chance of stopping Kirk. When that failed, he sat down on the recently vacated stool next to McCoy.

“You know, it’d be easier if you’d just tell him,” McCoy said, giving Spock a knowing look from the corner of his eye.

“Doctor, I do not recall asking for your advice,” Spock said, signaling the bartender. She would bring him a nonalcoholic mix, he knew, as well as the Captain’s tab. When McCoy opened his mouth again, he didn’t even glance over. “Nor did I ask for your opinion.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, you stubborn bastard.”

 

Kirk walked into the Starfleet hangar at exactly 0800 hours the next morning. He did so with only a slight limp and a shit-eating grin on his face that only got bigger when he spotted McCoy, standing with a box of hypos and a line of fresh-faced ensigns before him.

“Bones!” he called, and jogged over, shrugging around people. He clapped his friend on the shoulder, ignoring the grumble that he got in response. “Are you ready?”

“What, to be locked in a pressurized tin can with you and the rest of these maniacs for the next five years?” Bones ‘hmph’-ed, sticking the next poor sucker with a hypospray before marking something off on his PADD and waving him along. “No one is ready for this, Jim, no one _can_ be ready. You can make as many simulations as you want to, and not a single one is going to be able to factor in four hundred individual thoughts and actions. We’ll be lucky if we make it through the first six months without someone going stir crazy and murdering us all. And that’s not even getting into the implications of unexplored space! Do you know how many diseases there are that we don’t know about? That we can’t vaccinate against or cure?” He looked at Jim expectantly, even though he didn’t give him time to answer. “There is a possibility that on some godforsaken planet, you will pick up a strain of the common cold that makes your balls turn black and fall off!”

The ensign standing beside them had been steadily growing paler as he watched McCoy’s animated rant. At the last, his eyes went shockingly wide, and he looked to Jim as though he were considering handing in his resignation right then and there.

Before any more of his crew were scared away, Jim patted his friend’s arm, though still wary of the hypo. “This kind of inspiration is exactly why I keep you around, Bones.” He shot the ensign a reassuring grin before walking away, grinning at Bones’ grunt and then wincing a little at the ensign’s pained noise. Bones could get _vicious_ with those hypos when he wanted to.

He walked up the ramp and into his ship – his beautiful, _glorious_ girl, the woman of his dreams. This was the girl that was going to sweep him off of  his feet and carry him away into the stars, like some kind of old love song. Sometimes, Jim had thought that if his ship had some kind of sentience, he might honestly swear off sex with women for the rest of his life. Maybe sex altogether. Hell, there was probably a planet that he could marry the Enterprise on.

Of course, he’d have to fight Scotty for her, but if worse came to worst, they could share.

“Keptin on the bridge!” Chekov shouted as Jim entered. He was going to have to break him of that habit, he really was, or he was going to wind up throttling the kid six months in. That would just prove Bones _right_.

“Thank you, Mr. Chekov,” Jim said, scanning the bridge – _his_ bridge. He didn’t spy Spock, which surprised him. It was past 0800, and even while everyone else tended to run a good half hour late, Spock never did. “Lieutenant Uhura, where is the Commander?”

Uhura stiffened and spun in her seat, blinking at Jim as though she didn’t quite understand the question. Jim felt like he was missing something, like he had just asked a question about a book report in math class. “I… wouldn’t know, Captain,” she said, slowly.

Luckily, she was saved from further questioning by Spock choosing that moment to step onto the bridge. He looked impeccable as always, not a single hair out of place.

Jim smiled. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Spock,” he said. “We were beginning to wonder about you.”

“Forgive my tardiness,” Spock replied with a slight incline of his head. “I was meditating and lost track of time.”

Jim’s brow furrowed. “Lost track of time?”

“Yes, Captain, it is… inexcusable. It will not happen again.” With that, Spock brushed past him to his console, leaving Jim to wonder at the fact that Spock had… lost track of time. It was a very human mistake, after all, and didn’t fit Spock.

He didn’t have time to ponder, though. At the same time that McCoy finally came on board, Uhura turned in her seat again. “We’re being hailed by Starfleet Command, sir,” she said. “Putting them onscreen.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Jim took a seat in his chair – _his_ chair on _his_ bridge aboard _his_ ship – and tried his damnedest to look captainly when the Admiral’s face filled the viewscreen. He was pretty sure that he only managed to achieve kid-at-Christmas. “Admiral.”

“Captain Kirk,” the Admiral said. His grim voice immediately had Jim’s smile vanishing, replaced by a look of concentration. “I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news. While this does not affect your mission, I feel that you should be aware of the circumstances. A group of Starfleet officers stormed a hangar two nights ago and stole one of our ships.”

Jim frowned. The bridge had gone quiet, and he didn’t have to speak too loudly now to be heard. “Stole… meaning that they’ve gone rogue, sir?”

“That is exactly what I mean.” The Admiral sighed. “We have not been able to identify them yet, but there is evidence that they are planning to defect to the Klingons. We do not know how high their security clearances were yet – we do not know what they can tell the Klingons about our defenses. You _must_ prepare yourself, your ship, and your crew for hostility at the least, and all-out war at the worst.”

Ominous news, indeed. Jim scrubbed at the scruff on his chin. “Admiral, we’re assuming that the Klingons won’t simply see them as a threat and destroy them on sight. Not to mention, their sense of honor – even if they listened, would they be willing to trust a bunch of people they’ll see as cowardly traitors?”

“They have taken with them evidence of Marcus’ work,” the Admiral said, and Jim froze. “The Klingons will see it as proof that we are ready for war, and they will respond to that threat.”

“What, exactly, did they take?” Jim asked. If they had taken the cryotubes, the ones that were supposedly stored safely away…

“A Dreadnought Class ship. It was due to be decommissioned next week,” the Admiral said. He paused before continuing. “And all but eighteen of the cryotubes.”

Jim swallowed, staring at the Admiral intently. “Including Khan’s?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McCoy tense and Spock glance up sharply.

“Khan’s cryotube, as well as the cryotubes of his inner circle are still accounted for,” the Admiral said, and Jim breathed a small sigh of relief.

“What do you need us to do?”

“Be ready for anything,” the Admiral said. “As of right now, we have no solid proof that the Klingons are coming, or even that they have the technology to safely revive the members of Khan’s crew. The Dreadnought wasn’t equipped to do so. So, you are to continue with your mission.”

“What?” Jim stood. “Admiral, any one of those people could be just as dangerous –“

The Admiral cut him off. “We’ll find them,” he said. “And when we do, you’ll know. Until then, the Federation will continue to operate in the best interests of its members. Is that understood?”

It took him a moment, but eventually, Jim managed to unclench his teeth enough to reply. “Yes, sir.”

“Then I wish you luck, Captain.” The Admiral gave Jim a tired smile. “And I look forward to receiving the reports detailing your recklessly noble deeds.” Just like that, the Admiral was gone. Jim gazed at the viewscreen for a moment, thoughts racing – a Dreadnought class unaccounted for, fifty-four cryotubes of genetically engineered superhumans gone from a secure Starfleet location. It didn’t bode well, he thought, not well at all.

Jim was jerked from his thoughts by a sweet voice. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

He looked up to see a redhead standing just inside the bridge, dressed in Starfleet red with a stack of PADDs to rival Yeoman Rand’s. She smiled, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and Jim nodded his permission.

“Lieutenant Marla McGivers,” she said with a quick salute. “I realize it is late notice, but my request to join your mission was just approved yesterday.” She held out a PADD that Jim took and scanned through before passing it to Spock.

“Historian?” Jim said, raising an eyebrow. “May I ask what a historian wants with space?”

“Well, you are quite the legend,” McGivers said. “The son of George Kirk, the youngest captain in Starfleet history. You fended off the Gorn and saved Earth _twice_.”

Jim grinned. “So you’re here to chronicle _me_?”

“Not _just_ you, sir, but the accomplishments of the entire USS Enterprise.” She had a nice smile, Jim thought, and he did love a redhead.

He turned to Spock. “Commander?”

“Everything seems to be in order, Captain,” Spock said, and handed the PADD back to the pretty historian. “Lieutenant, please report to Doctor McCoy for inoculation and a physical.”

Marla smiled, turning to head back into the turbolift. Jim watched her go, and found that the brief respite allowed him to retrieve some of the enthusiasm taken from the conversation with the Admiral.

“Sir, the Enterprise is ready to embark,” Sulu said.

Jim turned to Spock. “Well, Spock, where do you think we should go first?”

He could have _sworn_ – and would until his dying day – that the Vulcan’s mouth twitched into a tiny, barely perceptible smile. “As a venture like this has never before been attempted, I defer to your good judgment.”

As he took a seat in the captain’s chair and ordered Sulu to take them away, Jim had only one thought – the next five years were going to be _awesome_.

 

Spock tried to take his meals in the mess as much as possible. It offered him the chance to interact with others as well as observe them, and he had found that being aware of what the crew said during their leisure hours allowed him to be a better First Officer. It kept him informed of developing situations within the ship, and, though he wouldn’t admit it, some rather amusing gossip.

Still, after two weeks into their five year mission, Spock was used to eating alone most of his meals alone. The Captain tended to join him for the evening meal with Doctor McCoy in tow, but for the rest of the time Spock sat apart from the crewmembers. So it was a surprise when Nyota sat down across from him one morning, a fruit salad and fork in hand.

“We need to talk,” she said.

Vulcans did not sigh, and so, Spock did not sigh. The last time that he had heard those words was nearly three months prior, in the middle of the night at Nyota’s kitchen table. He had learned over the years that they rarely heralded anything good, especially when it came to one Nyota Uhura.

“You haven’t told Kirk about us,” she said. “He keeps asking me where you are and how you really feel about something – like he doesn’t realize that you’re not about to sugarcoat anything for him.”

“I have not found the status of our relationship to be knowledge that the Captain requires in order to function efficiently,” Spock said stiffly. He had not quite learned how to be… easy with Nyota again, he does not know exactly how to act around her anymore.

“It’s something that the Captain, your _friend_ , would want to know,” she said. Her tone was gentle. “It’s not going to affect our working relationship, Spock, but he’s starting to wonder, and frankly, I think he’d rather hear these kinds of things from you, considering…” She stopped there, as though worried she had taken the conversation too far.

“Considering what, Nyota?” Spock watched her.

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Spock, it doesn’t suit you.” She did, however, glance around before leaning in. “Considering that you’re… _pining_ over him.”

Perhaps it was an accurate term, but Spock disliked it nonetheless. “I am not pining.”

Nyota gave him a smile, amused and fond and… tinged with sadness. “Of course you aren’t. Vulcans don’t pine, do they.” She stood then, though she hadn’t eaten any of her fruit salad. “Think about it, Spock. He deserves to know this, at least, even if you don’t tell him the reason.”

She walked away before Spock could respond. He sat for a moment, collecting his thoughts and allowing himself to think back to the night at Nyota’s kitchen table. Then, he too stood, and went to meditate.

 

Jim nearly spat out his Andorian spice bread. “I’m sorry, say again?” he managed.

Spock turned to face him instead of speaking into his own salad this time. “Lieutenant Uhura and I are no longer pursuing a romantic relationship,” he repeated.

“You _broke up_?” Jim stared at him. “When? Why? You guys were happy!”

“Well, obviously not that happy,” McCoy said. He was leaning back in his own seat, watching Spock as well.

“We terminated the relationship approximately three months ago,” Spock answered. If Jim noticed that he was choosing not to give a reason why, he didn’t comment.

Jim stared at Spock, and then looked around as though looking for Lieutenant Uhura so as to confirm Spock’s story. “Well, that explains a lot. I thought you guys were just fighting or something, I didn’t realize that… Wow. Spock. Are you okay?”

Spock paused at that question, unsure of how to answer. “I am feeling… fine, Captain,” he said. “We have ascertained that this will not affect our working relationship.”

Jim shook his head. “No, I mean, are you okay with the break up?”

“Lieutenant Uhura assures me that she still considers me to be her… friend, even if we are no longer romantically involved,” Spock replied after another moment.

“And what do you think?” McCoy asked. He was attempting to look disinterested.

“I… confess that her romantic interest in me was greater than… my interest in her,” Spock managed.

Jim’s eyebrows damn near hit his hairline. “Whoa. _Whoa_. You gave her the ‘I’m just not that into you’ speech?”

“I do not know what you are referring to.”

“Wait, who broke up with who?” McCoy asked even as Jim opened his mouth.

“The correct word is ‘whom,’ Doctor,” Spock said. He looked from the Doctor to Jim and then past them both. “It was a decision reached mutually.”

“Usually you can’t get guys to shut up about this kind of thing, but with you it’s like pulling teeth!” Jim said, flopping back against his chair. “Jeez, Spock. Why?”

“I admit to having an interest in someone other than Nyota,” Spock said. “Our minds were incompatible. Attempting to bond would have been dangerous for the both of us.” He expected a question about bonding, but Jim simply nodded as though he understood.

“So, in normal speak, the two of you had a completely civil breakup? No one threw anything, no one cried?” He stopped at the twitch of Spock’s hand. “Aw, Spock, she cried?”

Spock _had_ to learn how to control himself around his Captain. “She assured me that it was a completely natural Terran response to such an occasion,” Spock said, maybe a little quicker than he had intended. “And that she would, as she said, ‘bounce back’ with ease.”

“What I want to know is who else you’re interested in,” McCoy said. Ha, Jim _knew_ he was interested in this, and not just because McCoy was the biggest gossip on the ship.

“I would rather not say,” Spock said.

“At least tell us if it’s someone in Starfleet,” Jim said. “On the ship? On Vulcan?”

“Alpha shift starts in roughly twenty-five minutes, Captain.” Spock stood, taking his tray. “I will see you on the bridge.”

Jim dropped his head onto the table. “How am I supposed to stay quiet about it for the whole shift?” he whined to Bones. “It’s not like I can ask Uhura anything – she will kick my _ass_.”

“Yes, I will.” Uhura passed by their table, following Spock out of the mess before Jim could even think to call her back.

 

Marla came off shift just as Jim Kirk came on. There was admittedly little for a historian to do so early into the venture, but Marla was not here as a historian. She was keeping up appearances, yes, but if all went well, she would be on the Dreadnought with Khan by the end of the month.

She checked to make sure her door was locked before sitting down at her desk. With the wave of her hand, she raised a screen, pressing a button to send a hail on a private channel. Within a minute, Khan’s face appeared against the dark backdrop of the Dreadnought’s bridge.

“The transwarp device is in place, sir,” she said.

“Good,” Khan said. He watched her, knowing eyes dark. “But you called me for another reason.”

Marla paused – it unnerved her that he could see right through her, could guess her every move, just as much as it excited her. “There have been… rumors. That the Captain and Commander Spock are… more than friends.”

Khan leaned forward, toward her. She had his attention, all of it, and it was intoxicating. “ _Excellent_!” he said. “This is even better than I had hoped… This changes things, my dear.”

“Sir?” Marla managed, startled. “You mean you don’t plan to-“

“Kill him? Not anymore, no.” Khan’s smile was delighted and dark. “No, my dear, we are going to take him, and Commander _Spock_ …” He spat the name. “Oh, he will feel hopelessness, and Kirk will feel _pain_. I will hail you when we are ready.”

Khan’s face winked out, leaving the screen a pale, gentle blue. Marla’s hand fluttered to her chest, a futile attempt to calm her racing heart. She was… unsettled at best. Scared. She could go to the Captain, she thought wildly, she could tell him everything.

She thought of Khan’s hand on her skin, warm and strong, his voice whispering to her how things could be _better_ , how she could help the world. No, she would be strong, she could do this.

She _would_ do this.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim Kirk was used to not getting the things he wanted, at least when it came to the important stuff. Sure, he had a pretty good success rate when it came to convincing people into his bed – he had his good looks, at least – and he was practiced in getting results when it came to his starship – though he was pretty sure a lot of that came from having an incredibly competent crew.

He had wanted a mom. Instead, he got a woman who was hardly ever on planet that couldn’t look at him without seeing her dead husband. He had wanted a father – he got a memory, a name on a plaque, and Frank. He had wanted a steady, loving relationship, and wound up with a string of one night stands. The rule of Jim’s life had quickly turned out to be that he always drew the short straw when it came to the cosmic lottery, with the only two notable exceptions being his ship and his crew, and he’d had to fight tooth and nail for both.

So what it came down to was that Jim never got what he wanted, and Jim wanted Spock. He really didn’t have high expectations about Spock’s single status, despite what Bones seemed to think.

“For Christ’s sake, Jim.” Bones had his own whiskey from Earth, and the bastard was refusing to share it. This just left Jim with a bottle of synthehol beer, which was probably for the best considering Jim had a shift in eight and a half hours. “The two of you are practically married already! It can’t be that far of a leap.”

“It’s a huge leap. Massive leap.” Jim shook his head, finishing off his bottle and aiming it for the garbage chute. It bounced off the edge and clattered to the floor of McCoy’s quarters, rolling pathetically for a few inches. “I can’t do relationships, you know that.”

“Stop whining, you can too. You dated that Orion girl.”

Jim sighed. “No, I didn’t. We had a mutual love for sex and nothing else in common, we were fuckbuddies.” He was far more sober than he wanted to be, but no one liked a maudlin starship captain. The opportunity to compare his love life to the vastness of space would be too tempting. “I have no idea what she did other than that thing with her tongue. Besides, I’m not exactly the prime candidate for interstellar relations and diplomacy, and I really don’t want the entire Vulcan colony after me.”

Bones snorted. “It’s amazing how you got so far in life when you’re a completely emotionally stunted dumbass,” he supplied helpfully.

“Fuck you, I’m awesome.” Jim stood and stretched. “And Captain Awesome is going to bed. Thanks for listening to me whine.”

Bones stood as well, catching Jim’s arm before the captain got too far. “Jim, you oughta give this a shot. With Spock.”

“You hate the guy, Bones.” Jim’s brow furrowed in amused confusion. “Remember? Green-blooded hobgoblin?” When Bones didn’t reply beyond a meaningful look, he sighed and said, “Look, it’s a crush. We’re supposed to have this big life-affirming, epic friendship, and I don’t wanna screw that up by announcing that I’d like to get into his pants. Besides, he doesn’t want me.”

“You don’t _know_ that.”

“If he does, it’s for a roll in the hay, because my reputation precedes me, just like always.” Jim shrugged. “Not for the long run, and I’m okay with that.”

“God damn it, you’re more than just-“

“My dick, I know.” Jim waved a hand dismissively, desperate to be heading for the door already. Usually he was pretty indulgent when it came to Bones wanting to play therapist, but this was just a little too raw, a little too much of his insecurities brought to light.

“I’m serious,” Bones said, and yeah, fuck, he had his concerned face on. He gave Jim’s arm a little shake. “Spock’s into you.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe he wants to _get_ into me-“

“And if you could be _serious_ for one goddamn second-“

“I am!”

Jim hadn’t meant to yell, but at least Bones had stopped talking. “I’m not just being serious, I’m being realistic. I’m not the guy you bring home to the Vulcan Council of Whatever, and Spock knows that. Hell, Spock probably knows better than anyone what kind of upstanding citizen I’m _not_. So no matter how much I’d like to be the kind of guy Spock deserves, I’m not now and I won’t ever be.” He took advantage of Bones’ loose grip and pulled his arm free. “Good night, Bones,” he said, and was out the door before Bones could protest.

 

When it came down to it, Spock was used to not being able to live up to others’ expectations of him. The feeling was not an unfounded insecurity, but instead a fact, a hypothesis proven time and again throughout his life.

He had never been good enough for his people – even now, in their desperation to save the Vulcan race from extinction, his blood was looked down upon. His weakness was not his mother, as the Council had thought, but was his own humanity within himself, his lack of control. Spock’s mother had, up until recently, been the exception to the rule. She had embraced everything about him, encouraged and supported his decision to become fully Vulcan and purge his own humanity. With her death came the knowledge that Spock was doomed to be something of a failure where it truly counted.

Spock had been fortunate in finding Nyota. She was patient and understanding, had embraced his failures and his shortcomings, and had loved him with a fierceness rivaled only by his mother. Then, she had opened her arms and let him go with a sad, simple smile. Spock had never deserved her.

Just as he had never deserved his mother, and he would never deserve Jim.

“Tell him,” Dr. McCoy said, after Spock had sat silent in his office for the better part of an hour. “And for god’s sake, I’m not a therapist.”

 

After the conversation with Bones, Jim couldn’t shake the thought. The idea of him and Spock together in a romantic sense… not just sex, but curling up and sleeping, stealing kisses in the morning, or, oh god, Jim stealing one of Spock’s shirts to work in…

Well, if anyone ever needed any proof that he had the maturity of a fourteen-year-old girl, this was it.

That wasn’t to say that Jim didn’t want sex. Oh, he wanted sex. He wanted it on every surface of his quarters, up to and including the top of his dresser. He wanted to ride Spock in the captain’s chair, wanted to push Spock up against the science console and lick the tips of his fingers and scandalize pretty much the entire bridge crew. He just kind of also wanted to hear the sweet nothings that people just didn’t say to the rough-and-tumble half-drunk one-night-stand they met at the bar an hour earlier.

What it came down to was that Jim wanted a relationship, complete with the communication and the compromise and the coitus all over the ship. And the idea that Bones had planted in his head, the one that hovered at the edge of his consciousness, pretty much took over his daydreaming.

So not only were his masturbation fantasies completely overtaken by Spock, he could now kiss his daydreams goodbye too. When he wasn’t thinking about all that Vulcan strength, he was thinking about how gentle Spock _might_ be. Jim blamed Bones.

And then there were the chess games. Where they had been easy – not the game, necessarily, but the atmosphere – before, now the air seemed… _charged_ somehow, full of something that had every single nerve in Jim’s body alight. He was aware of Spock’s every move, the way that he gracefully picked up a piece when he was still thinking about the move, to the confident grasp of a game he had already won. Jim couldn’t even really put up much of a resistance, lost in his own little world as he was, trapped and entranced by every single nuance of Spock’s body.

He should have known that things would eventually come to a head, and there was no better time than during one of their games. They were alone in Spock’s quarters, after all, away from the prying eyes and ears of the crew. Jim was even concentrating on the game for once, certain that he finally had Spock backed into a corner.

“Captain, there is something I wish to speak with you about,” Spock said, all formality and slight hesitation. That wasn’t a good sign, not at all.

“If you’re calling me Captain off-duty, it must be serious,” Jim replied, moving his knight.

“Jim.”

Jim looked up from the board as Spock stood. The Vulcan clasped his hands behind his back, turning away to gaze at something far beyond the Enterprise. He was quiet, and Jim knew better than to interrupt when Spock took on that pensive pose.

“You cause me to lose control.”

Jim’s brow furrowed, and he blinked, taking a moment to process that one. “I’m… uh, sorry? Look, Spock, are you still worried about the little incident on the bridge? Because I’m telling you, if you’d wanted to kill me, you would have, and since I’m sitting here, alive and well…” Jim trailed off. Spock had turned and was watching him, face as impassive as ever. “…But that’s not what you’re talking about, is it?”

“Captain…” Spock paused. “Jim. I cannot… I find it difficult to express how I… feel. About you. For you.”

Jim stood as well. “I make you lose control?”

“You have forced me to give into anger, to grief.”

Jim visibly flinched. “I can’t help pushing buttons, it’s the way I am. You know that, Spock, why are you bringing this up _now_?”

“It is not an accusation,” Spock said sharply. Jim looked up to find that the Vulcan had stepped closer.

Spock was too close, far too close. Jim could reach out and touch him if he wanted, fist a hand in Spock’s black undershirt and pull him even closer, until there was nothing between them but a few thin layers of fabric. He could have reached out and felt the heat of Spock’s skin under his palm.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, gone dry. “Then what is it, Spock?”

“An observation,” Spock said, and then it was he who stepped even closer, gentle in the way that he dipped his head to catch Jim’s lips against his own. Jim, though, was the one who pressed himself flush against the Vulcan’s body, deepening the kiss until Spock’s tongue tangled with his own, until Jim couldn’t get air unless Spock was breathing into him.

They pulled apart, barely an inch away from each other, but it was Jim who untangled himself enough to take a full step back.

“Jim-“

“I want more,” Jim said, still breathless. “I said I could be a fling for you, Spock, but I can’t, okay? So if that’s all you’re after, we just… we pretend that this never happened, because I can’t just be a-a _conquest_ , not for you.”

Spock took another step, this time lifting a hand. “Jim, I… may I show you?” Jim nodded, hesitantly, but he didn’t pull away when Spock pressed his fingers to the meld points.

It was like being plunged into a hot spring. It was warm, all-encompassing, even as it kept him from being dragged down. There was someone speaking in the distance, a string of words he couldn’t understand, and then, directly in his ear – _t’hy’la_.

Friend. Brother. Lover.

Jim’s head broke the surface of the water as Spock’s hand pulled away, and he surged up to find Spock’s lips once more.

 

It was pure luck that had Marla returning from her shift just as the Captain left Commander Spock’s quarters. She stopped, ducking into an adjacent hallway as he passed. He looked mussed, from his shirt to his hair, and he glanced back to where the Commander lingered in the door of his room.

Marla waited until she heard the whirr of the turbolift door closing before hurrying to her own quarters, thoughts already racing ahead to the conversation with Khan.

 

Jim had always been a heavy sleeper. He didn’t exactly wake at the drop of a hat, and he tended to sprawl across every bit of bed that he could reach.

He hadn’t heard the door slide open with the override code. He hadn’t stirred at the four pairs of eyes that watched him like a tiger watched a canary. It was only when rough hands grabbed him and pressed him down, face first into the pillow, that he came awake thrashing – or trying to at least. His arms were wrenched behind his back with strength he couldn’t even begin to counter and tied together with what felt like a rough rope. Jim struggled to breathe, mind racing as to who could possibly be behind this. There were too many hands holding him down – on his legs, his arms, curled around the back of his skull to keep him pressed down – for him to fight when a weight settled over him on the bed.

He stilled, gone lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.

Another hand, this one even less gentle than the rest, gripped his hair and pulled his head up out of the pillow. Jim sucked in air, head spinning as he tried to gather his wits about him and let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

“It’s good to see you again, Captain,” Khan said, and Jim’s blood ran icy cold.

“Emergency code sixteen-forty-“ The rest of the command was lost, cut off by Khan forcing the Captain’s head back down into the pillow. Jim struggled, thrashing against the blankets, but all it earned him was rope burn and the grim knowledge that despite his best efforts, Khan stayed a solid weight on his back, his hand unyielding where it curled around his skull.

“Code seven-oh-five-one-three, crew member James Tiberius Kirk, identification seventy-three-oh-nine,” Khan said calmly. “Alert Commander Spock.” Jim swore, a muffled shout into the pillow. Using a crew member’s code, Khan had just declared him unfit for duty. The computer wouldn’t recognize any of his commands until the CMO overrode the codes, not even the emergency ones.

When Khan yanked his head up, Jim didn’t waste time. “Who do you have on my ship?” he demanded.

The man was silent for a long moment. “You continually surprise me, Captain,” he said. The weight disappeared from Jim’s back, the hand from his hair, and he was hauled up onto his feet, held a good inch or so off the ground by two of Khan’s lackeys.

“That code is known only to Enterprise personnel,” Jim spat. “Who the _hell_ do you have on _my_ ship?”

“Interesting, that you should choose such a trivial thing to focus on when you find yourself in such a predicament.” Khan stepped up into Jim’s space. Jim couldn’t even aim a good kick – he had seen what augments could do, and they were in prime position to break his arms. He’d need those if he wanted to be able to fight back when the opportunity arose. “You are, I presume, worried for the safety of your crew. That is a sign of a very good leader; I should expect that from you by now, I suppose.”

“Don’t talk like you know me, you son of a bitch,” Kirk hissed.

“But I do know you.” Khan eyed him, eyes glittering in the dim light of the Captain’s quarters. “I know you better than anyone else, Kirk, perhaps even better than you know yourself. I can predict your every move steps before you even think of them – you have always simply played right into my hands.”

“You lost last time, and you’ll lose again.”

Khan ignored him. “You and I, James Kirk, are two images of the same man… I am everything that you could be, your ambition unhindered by the constructs of your precious Starfleet. I am the man you’re _afraid_ to be. I am so much more than you.”

Jim glared at him, nostrils flared and jaw clenched. “You’re just an asshole with delusions of grandeur and a tiny dick.”

The goons holding him tightened their grips; Jim couldn’t fight back a wince. There would be bruises, if they didn’t just outright break his arms. Bones would have a fit.

Khan, however, didn’t respond with anything more than that smirk, knowing and infuriating. Jim ground his teeth – the bastard was _amused_ by insults, like words were the best that Jim could throw at him.

At the moment, they kind of were.

The man reached up and slid two fingers down Jim’s cheek, smirk only widening when Jim tried to pull away and found nowhere to go. “Take him,” he said to the men holding the Captain, giving Jim’s cheek a final not-so-gentle pat. “I’ll follow shortly.”

Jim yelled in protest as the men hauled him back, practically carrying him a good inch or so off the ground. His shouts vanished along with them as they disappeared in a swirl of light.

Lieutenant McGivers stepped out from the shadows. She was pale, visibly shaken, dressed still in her Starfleet uniform. She hesitated when Khan held out his hand to her, taking it and watching, silent, as he raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“My dear,” Khan said. His voice was soft and hypnotizing, but Marla was wary. “You have no reason to fear me.”

She swallowed, tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she thought. Khan still held her hand, calloused fingers gentle on hers. “I… Is this really necessary, Khan? Why can’t we just-“

He gripped her arm, yanking her close. Fury flashed in his eyes, and Marla shrank beneath his gaze. “Do _not_ question me in this matter.” Marla tried to pull away; Khan’s hold was unbreakable, she knew, the science and facts ran through her brain unbidden. “They humiliated me. They tried to control me. They would have killed my _family_. Leaving him alive is my mercy.”

“You’re hurting me,” Marla managed in a tiny voice.

Khan released his grip, sliding his hand up her arm as though trying to soothe away the pain he had just caused, and she trembled.

“You are a rare thing,” he said again, quietly. “When the time comes, I will come for you.” His hand slid up, fingertips trailing the curve of her shoulder, her neck, the line of her jaw, until they came to cup her cheek. Marla forced herself to raise her eyes to Khan’s. “We will make our own world, my dear.”

Marla nodded. Khan stepped away, touched the insignia on his chest, and was gone in a swirl of light and color.

Though she feared her knees wouldn’t hold her, Marla managed to slip out the door and down the corridor, reaching her own quarters before she slumped against the door, tears hot in her eyes.

 

The Captain was not in his quarters, despite the override. As far as Spock knew, he was in no way unfit for command despite their… activities.

Spock stared at the empty room, at the rumpled blankets. It had only been a few hours, a single shift, since he had last seen Jim. There was nothing out of place, simply the mess that was distinctive of Jim’s space; a few articles of clothing thrown about, the bedclothes tossed aside. It looked as though Jim should have come striding out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel and insisting that he would be on the bridge soon enough. But the adjoining bathroom was dark, as empty as the bedroom.

His communicator chirped. “Commander, we’re being hailed.” Nyota sounded stressed. “It’s the stolen Dreadnought.”

“I am on my way.” The Captain vanishing just as the missing Dreadnought appeared was suspicious, to say the least. The odds that the two events were connected… Well. Spock wouldn’t say it aloud, but he had a ‘hunch,’ though he hesitated to put faith in what was merely a gut feeling.

He stepped off the turbolift and onto the bridge, meeting Nyota’s eyes for a brief moment, and found he still couldn’t shake the feeling of something sinister approaching. “Put the hail onscreen, Lieutenant.” Nyota nodded and typed in a command.

A face filled the screen. “Hello, Mr. Spock.”

Anger, irrational and consuming, filled him. It was only the knowledge that he was being watched, that his anger would be seen as a weakness, that kept him from bursting out at the figure on the screen. “Khan,” he said, and watched as the man reached down to pull something up – Jim, with Khan’s pale hand gripping his hair, face twisted in a medley of pain, being pulled up to his knees. Jim’s eye had been blackened, his lip split open, and he looked as though he were only holding onto consciousness by sheer force of indomitable will. Blood welled from his lip and dripped sluggishly from his nose.  There were the beginnings of bruises mottling his chest, and his arms were bound behind him.

Khan didn’t smile so much as his lips curved into something sinister. “Shall we begin?”

“Return the Captain to our ship immediately, or we will be forced to take hostile action,” Spock said.

Khan moved, hand coming down to grip the Captain by the throat instead. He lifted him bodily as Jim’s eyes went wide, face turning red as he struggled for breath, legs scrambling against the deck.

“Need I remind you that I have only to exert a portion of my strength to snap his neck?” Khan said calmly. He released his grip and Jim crashed to the ground, coughing and gasping. Khan reached down and pulled him up to his knees again, yanking his head back. “Now. If you want your lover back in one piece, you will do exactly as I say.”

“Don’t do it, Spock,” Jim managed, words slurring together. “He’s gonna kill us either-“

He was cut off by a vicious backhand from Khan, sending him down with a pained noise. There was a horrified gasp that came from the direction of Nyota’s console, and Spock didn’t have to look around to know that the other bridge officers would be wearing expressions similar to hers.

This time Khan left him there, lying just below the transmission frame. “I want only a few things, Mr. Spock,” he said. “I want a planet, where my people and I will not be disturbed by the Federation. I want this ship, as well as security that the Federation will turn a blind eye to my activities. And lastly, Mr. Spock…” Khan’s lip lifted in a sneer, teeth bared. “I want you _dead_.”

While Spock had thought Jim had finally, mercifully, been knocked unconscious, there came a shout of “ _No, you son of a –“_ cut off by a vicious kick from Khan.

“What happens to the Captain when you get what you want?” Spock asked – he had to work to keep his cool, sure that his hand was twitching where it was pulled behind his back. “Do you simply kill him? Or do you let him go?”

“I haven’t yet decided, Commander.” Khan tilted his head, thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. “I suppose that depends on how well you comply with my demands. _All_ of them.” He reached down again, pulling a barely-conscious Jim up into the frame once more, and Spock realized that Jim’s shirt had been stripped away. “I do know this – your Captain and I will have at least a few days to get acquainted, at longest, a lifetime. The longer you keep me waiting, the more time I have to _ruin_ him.”

With that, the screen winked out, leaving nothing but the velvet darkness of stars beyond.

“Get me Starfleet,” Spock ordered, and Nyota, with a look of fierce determination on her face, spun to comply.

A hand landed on Spock’s shoulder, heavy and warm. “We will get him back,” Doctor McCoy said, with what Spock assumed was supposed to be a comforting roughness to his voice.

“Yes,” Spock said, “we will.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real onstage non-con at this time, but will be in later chapters. We get pretty close to it in this chapter though. 
> 
> I'm making up the science as I go.

Jim was holding onto consciousness by a thin string when they finally dragged him off the bridge of the Dreadnought. He hit the floor with a groan when they finally dropped him, wincing in pain – he was sure that Khan’s vicious kicks had bruised, if not cracked, a rib or two. He heard the sound of a door whirring closed, and then, he thought sluggishly, he was alone. He blinked open his eyes, one swollen almost shut already, and gingerly pushed himself up to his hands and knees. The world around him spun for a moment, and his stomach turned.

He needed to get his bearings, needed to be aware of himself so that when the opportunity for escape arose, he could take it.

Instead of standing, like he’d originally planned – unsure now that his legs would hold him – he lifted his head and looked around as best he could. Jim was surprised to find himself in quarters, not a cell like the one that he’d held Khan in on the _Enterprise_. There was a bed and a desk with a PADD and various other items on it, as well as, he assumed, the door to a bathroom.

Slowly, Jim shifted to the nearby wall, and pulled himself up. He took a few deep breaths – ribs bruised, he assessed, not broken. His feet were unsteady beneath him, but he managed to make his way over to the door and attempt to key it open, not surprised when he found it locked.

A comfortable cage, then.

The next stop was the desk. The PADD was locked – he didn’t know the passcode to get it open and the general visage of it was blurry to him at the moment anyway. However, Jim was surprised a second time to find that placed neatly upon the desk was a dermal regenerator, along with a set of healing hypos, sealed in their packages as though to prove they hadn’t been tampered with.

Before he could even think about patching himself up, however, the door to the quarters whirred to life once more, sliding open. Jim spun as quickly as he could, given that he was pretty sure he had a concussion and could lose the contents of his stomach at any time.

Khan regarded him as the door slid closed once more. “I am _surprised_ ,” he said, almost sounding as though he were delighted, “that you are able to stand on your own two feet.”

And even as Jim stood, the world moving around him and trapped as he was with a man he couldn’t hope to defeat on his own, he had one weapon left – his words. “I’ve been through bar fights worse than that little power trip on the bridge,” Jim replied, and was rewarded with Khan’s expression morphing into annoyance.

“Sit down, Captain Kirk,” Khan said, gesturing toward the desk chair. When Jim didn’t move, he added, “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Jim weighed his options for a long moment, glaring at Khan through the eye that wasn’t swollen. Then, he pulled out the chair and sat, knowing good and well that not doing as the augmented man wished would just result in another beating, and Jim needed to be at his fighting best if he had any hope of getting out of this alive.

“Why are you healing me?” Jim asked as Khan ran the dermal regenerator over his face, paying particular attention to Jim’s swollen eye. He didn’t really expect an answer.

“Your eyes are captivating,” Khan said, voice suddenly gone lower than Jim had ever heard it before. “And painting on a fresh canvas is much more satisfying than painting on a used one.”

The only thing that kept Jim in the chair was Khan’s immovable hand on his shoulder, pressing him down and giving him no leniency. Suddenly, the picture being painted for Jim took on a very sinister light.

“It’s not happening,” Jim said, quietly, looking at Khan through both eyes with a glare. Khan put the regenerator aside. “I will rip your dick off with my _teeth_. I would rather die than -“

“And your crew?” Khan’s hand was suddenly in Jim’s hair, fisting in a painful grip. “Those four hundred souls under your command? Would they rather die?”

He pulled Jim to a standing position using the grip on his hair, wrapping his other hand around Jim’s throat and pressing him to a nearby wall. Jim’s hands came up in an attempt to pry Khan’s fingers away, pushed at Khan’s chest, but the augmented man was like a brick wall.

“I have the position of the _Enterprise_ locked, Kirk. This Dreadnought can completely disable it in minutes, and then what? Then I let my crew go in and finish the job, and your people die screaming.”

Finally, finally, Khan released his throat, and Jim sucked in breaths of air, coughing and gasping, as the hand in his hair moved to his cheek. Rough fingers gripped his chin, forcing him to look up at Khan’s face.

“You can’t stop me,” Khan murmured, as if he were saying something gentle instead. “I will have you, Kirk, no matter whether you fight tooth and nail or simply give in.”

“Fuck you,” Jim said, hoarse.

“Have it your way, then.”

The hand that connected with Jim’s cheek was like being hit by a bag of cement. Khan caught him around the middle as his knees buckled with the pain and shock, but Jim quickly gained his wits about him and launched himself off the wall, hoping that his body weight would at least make Khan stumble.

It didn’t.

Instead, Khan laughed, pressing Jim to the wall once more, even as the Captain struggled against him. Another vicious slap had Jim’s recently healed lip splitting once more, and a third one sent Jim crumpling to the floor. This time Khan let him fall, catching him only by the throat, and forced the Captain up onto his knees.

Jim realized that this wasn’t the position he wanted to be in, especially when he opened his eyes and found himself level with the bulge in Khan’s pants. He clenched his jaw and glared up at Khan, defiance written all over his face.

“Here’s what is going to happen, Captain,” Khan said, and his voice was low and dangerous. “You’re going to open that pretty mouth of yours, like the good whore that I know you can be. And if you _don’t_ , I will give the order to destroy the _Enterprise._ You have thirty seconds.”

Jim swallowed, and thought of Bones, Spock, Uhura, and everyone else. Then, slowly and with hatred burning in every fiber of his being, he parted his lips and dropped his eyes.

He could do this. He could survive this, Spock would get him out, and then they could _kill_ Khan.

“Good boy,” Khan murmured, smug, and Jim hated him so much. The hand left Jim’s throat to undo the augment’s pants, and then Jim was facing Khan’s hard cock. “I imagine that you’ve had plenty of practice with this - impress me, Kirk.”

 

Spock was drawn from his reverie by Lieutenant Uhura calling his name. He felt briefly ashamed of his lack of attentiveness, but his thoughts were full of Jim and the horrors he was no doubt undergoing aboard the Dreadnought, at the mercy of Khan. The images of Jim, bruised and bloodied, were there every time that Spock blinked, etched into the back of his eyelids. He was unable to be rid of them, or the emotions attached. He needed to meditate, but there was no time for that – not while Jim was in danger.

“Lieutenant?” Spock turned his eyes to Nyota. She looked… annoyed, and fear flickered in her eyes though she carefully tried to hide it.

“I am unable to hail Starfleet,” she said, and the words sounded like poison to Spock’s ears. “Or anyone else, for that matter. It would seem the Dreadnought is blocking our transmissions – we can only receive or send hails from them.”

“That is unfortunate,” Spock managed. No reinforcements, then. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Nyota studied him for a moment longer, wearing the same expression that his mother had often worn when Spock was insistent that he did not need physical affection. Then, she nodded once, and spun in her seat.

Spock needed to think, quickly.

“Mr. Sulu,” he said, after a moment of going over Khan’s demands once more. “I need a list of habitable but uninhabited planets currently known to Starfleet. It would be prudent if you can find one outside of Federation space.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu said, and turned to his console with PADD in hand.

A planet. The ship. Spock dead.

Those were the list of demands, and if it were as simple as handing them over to get Jim back, Spock would have gladly offered them up. However, the probability of anyone aboard the _Enterprise_ surviving Khan’s madness was slim. No, there had to be a way to _defeat_ Khan, a way to destroy him, so that nothing like this ever happened again.

Spock needed time, but every second that he spent trying to work the problem was another second that Jim was in Khan’s grasp – getting ‘acquainted’ as Khan put it.

“Mr. Sulu,” he said again after a moment. “You have the conn.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu said with a nod.

Then Spock was off the Bridge, heading for the turbolift. The sound of footsteps echoed behind him, and he wasn’t surprised when Nyota followed him in. After a few seconds, she pressed the stop button and turned to him, eyes searching his face.

For a moment, he’s reminded of the two of them in this very turbolift after the destruction of Vulcan.

Now, however, she looks as though she’s alight with concern instead of devastation for him.

“I was thinking,” she said quickly. “How did they get on the ship? No one was injured, and only Kirk was taken. The only thing I can think of –“

“A portable transwarp beaming device,” Spock said. “In addition, someone used the override codes only known to personnel. Nyota, I believe we have a traitor among us.”

“My conclusion as well. We’ll have to keep it quiet, any mention may spook the traitor. I’ll go through personnel files and see if I can find anyone with a connection to Khan.” Nyota looked troubled, and it darkened her features like a storm coming over the Terran horizon. “If there’s someone aboard the ship in league with Khan, we’re at a severe disadvantage.”

“It would appear so,” Spock agreed, and reached for the button to start the turbolift once more.

Nyota’s hand, gentle on his arm, stopped him. “Spock,” she said, eyes searching his once more. “We’ll get him back.”

Spock pushed the button.

 

A pained noise escaped Jim as he hit the bed. He laid for a moment, gasping for breath – Khan hadn’t been gentle once he’d taken control, once it was clear that Jim wasn’t exactly going to pull out all the stops for the homicidal megalomaniac. Khan hadn’t come in Jim’s mouth, at least, but Jim had a feeling that Khan had more plans for him.

Jim knew that he wasn’t in a good situation. He was completely at the augment’s mercy, he was shirtless, and Khan… Khan was hard, frankly impressive cock curving up towards his belly even as he stood, simply watching Jim heave in air on the bed. Jim knew that there was only one way that this ended, but that didn’t mean that he would go down easy, that he wouldn’t fight for his own dignity.

“I can see that I am going about this the wrong way,” Khan finally said after a long moment of studying Jim, the heat in his gaze unmasked and untamed.

Jim managed a hoarse, mirthless laugh. “Rape is typically considered the ‘wrong way,’ yes.” His voice came out like he’d been strangled, cracking and soft, and he hated the fact that he was essentially showing weakness at the moment.

“I can see that you’ll gladly roll over if I threaten the people under your command,” Khan continued, like Jim had never spoken at all. Jim dropped his gaze briefly – it was true, he’d willingly walk into phaser fire if he had to, if it meant that his crew walked away safe. “But I can also see that it will not break you, not as I want it to.”

“You’re damn right it won’t.” Jim knew that the smart thing would be to keep his mouth _shut_ , but he’d never been the type to suffer quietly and he wasn’t about to start now. He gave another barked laugh, closing his eyes. “If you think you’re the first one to try and break me, you have another thing coming. I’ve survived things you couldn’t even dream up.”

A smirk curved on Khan’s face. “I’ve read your file, Kirk,” he said. “Even the classified one. You’re far from broken, I think.”

Footsteps, and then fingertips were skimming down the curve of Jim’s bare back. Jim flinched away from the hand, but there was nowhere to go. It was going to happen, whether Jim wanted it or not, and he knew – from experience, sadly – that he was powerless to stop anything, and that the best thing he could do was to lay back and think of Starfleet. There were safe places in Jim’s mind for situations like this, built through years of trauma, and he could retreat for the time being. Then, hopefully, Khan would leave him alone, and Jim could get back to planning his escape.

“Even now, even as you want to fight – and you do, I can feel your muscles itching to move beneath my hand – you’re… _docile_.” Khan spat the word as though it were dirty. “Do you think you can escape this, Kirk? Of course you do. You think that I can’t follow you into your own mind, that I’ll simply allow you to go blank, to withdraw, to find somewhere that’s safe from me. You misunderstand.”

The hand left Jim’s skin, and for a moment Jim was left with his own harsh breath and nothing more.

Then, suddenly, a voice next to his ear, hot breath on the shell, and an immovable hand on his opposite jaw that kept him from jerking away. “It’s not the sex that I _crave_ , James. It’s the _violence_.”

Jim reeled, from the use of his given name, from the intimate way that Khan spoke to him, from the telltale hiss of a hypo being activated. He tried to yank away, but the grip on his jaw held firm, so firm, in fact, that Jim was momentarily afraid that Khan meant to crush it. The hypo hit the juncture of his neck and shoulder with a sting, drawing a pained snarl from Jim, one hand flying up from the bed to gingerly feel at the injection site when Khan pulled the hypo away. Though, Jim didn’t see, he heard it hit the wall and then the floor, tossed aside by the augment.

“What the fuck did you just give me,” Jim demanded.

“Something to keep you in the moment,” Khan said, voice gone low and dark with arousal.

Jim snarled again, tried to buck Khan off, but the weight of the augment remained a steady line along Jim’s back, the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently into the back of Jim’s thigh. He tried to twist away, and to his surprise, this time Khan pulled himself back and away. Jim rolled onto his back and was shocked to find Khan stepping away, across the room to lean against the wall.

That was when the first wave of pure arousal coursed through him.

It hit Jim like a piano out of the sky in an old Terran cartoon, caused him to crumple and took his breath away. It shot down his spine and straight to his cock, even as Jim struggled to fight it away.

“An aphrodisiac,” he breathed.

“Close,” Khan said. “You wouldn’t be familiar with this concoction, James – “

“Stop calling me that,” Jim snapped, and another shock of arousal hit him, sending him jerking off the bed, back bowing.

“As I was saying.” Khan sounded amused, the bastard. “You wouldn’t be familiar with this particular concoction, _James_. As far as I know, it hasn’t been used since the Eugenics War. It’s engineered so that normal, everyday humans – such as yourself – are able to keep up with the _stamina_ of an augmented human – such as myself.”

He didn’t take a step closer to the bed, but suddenly Jim was so _aware_ of his presence, of the words coming out of his mouth, of every breath that Khan drew.

“In short,” Khan went on, and Jim hung on his every word even as he internally screamed his defiance, “you won’t be satisfied until I am through with you.”

Jim didn’t need to look over to know that Khan was watching him. He could feel Khan’s eyes on him, piercing, heavy like a weight that Jim couldn’t shake off, and Jim _needed_.

“You’ll beg me, James.”

“Never,” Jim breathed, and knew that it was a lie.

 

Spock needed to think.

It wasn’t often that Spock needed to set aside a time to work on a problem – and that was how he had to view the situation, a problem to be solved. In order to help Jim, he had to remain emotionally detached, he had to remove himself.

He could give into the rage and the devastation coiling at the base of his spine later, once Jim was safely back on board the _Enterprise_ , once they were both safe.

There was a traitor aboard the ship. This would need to be discovered and dealt with swiftly and quietly. Spock trusted that Nyota would be able to find out who had betrayed them, so he didn’t currently strain himself with trying to discover the identity of the perpetrator.

Sulu was working on Khan’s demands. Spock trusted him as well, knew that he would get the job done efficiently.

That left a single problem that concerned Spock – how to defeat Khan and his crew.

A Dreadnought, Spock knew from their last encounter with one, was engineered to be operated by as little a crew as possible. The Starfleet officers, which Spock now assumed to be Khan and his crew, that had stolen the ship had also stolen fifty-five of the cryostasis tubes, leaving eighteen.

Spock was not a betting man, but odds indicated he could wager the people inside the eighteen cryostasis tubes were not three hundred years old.

It would be logical to assume, then, that the Dreadnought was being flown by a crew of eighteen – Khan and his inner circle, or the cryotubes that were still “accounted for” back at Starfleet. That would mean, if they hadn’t revived any more of the augmented humans, that there would be eighteen augments between Spock and Jim, including Khan himself.

Spock, in his grief-induced rage, had defeated Khan once, had rendered him unconscious and meant to kill him. He would need all of that strength, and more, now.

Wait.

“And more.”

Perhaps that was it.

The walk to Sickbay was quick. No one stopped Spock – there was an air of urgency that pervaded the entire ship, now that everyone was aware the Captain had been taken hostage. Spock found it an accurate reflection of his own sentiments, and was pleased (as pleased as he could be under the circumstances) that it seemed that it was “all hands on deck” at the time.

Spock found Doctor McCoy in his office, about to take a drink of the bourbon that Spock knew he kept in his desk drawer for particularly trying days. Spock supposed that one could consider this day and the days ahead of them “trying” to say the least.

“Doctor,” Spock said, forgoing greetings. “How many samples of augmented blood remain in storage?”

McCoy gave him a look, one part annoyance and three parts confusion. “Over a hundred we pulled when we emptied the torpedoes. Why?”

“Do you believe that you can replicate a temporary augmentation process with the samples that you possess?”

McCoy nearly dropped his glass, setting it down hard on the desk. “Do I _what_?”

“I said,” Spock repeated, “do you believe that you can replicate –“

“A temporary augmentation process, I _heard_ you, I was just wondering if you knew that you’ve completely lost your Vulcan mind!” McCoy sounded angry, as he often did. “For one thing, augmentation was the result of what we think – _think_ , mind you, not _know_ – was selective breeding and genetic engineering.”

“I am asking if you can replicate the genetic engineering process,” Spock said. “We would only require a temporary ‘boost’ to existing abilities, as it were.”

McCoy stared at him. “You want an even playing field,” he finally said, quieter. “It’s insane, Spock. It could very well kill you, _if_ I’m able to do it.” He scrubbed at the scruff of his chin. “I’m not saying it’s impossible – hell, we brought Jim back from the dead, nothing’s impossible. Synthesizing a power boost to match an augmented human’s… the best records we have from the 1990s on Earth are still pretty bad, Spock.”

“I trust in your abilities, Doctor.”

McCoy sighed, but Spock could tell that the Doctor had already begun to think the problem through. “It’s insane,” he said again. “But if I’m right, and if I can do it… all subjects will need to be at least _partially_ human.” He gave Spock a pointed look. “And complete volunteers who know the risks upfront.”

“What do you need from me, Doctor?” Spock asked.

McCoy gave another sigh, looking Spock in the eyes. “Time.”


End file.
